Diabolic
Dolly Leigh, Derrick Pierce Pic(s)
The humid air clung to their flushed skin, a palpable presence in the dim room as their bodies moved in a primal, unspoken rhythm. His calloused fingers traced the dark, wiry trail that snaked down from his companion’s navel, a path leading into the shadowed thicket below. A low groan rumbled in his chest, vibrating agat the other’s sweat-slicked back as he pressed closer, inhaling the musky, earthy scent of their shared exertion. The younger man arched, a gasp catching in his throat as a hand tangled possessively in the coarse hair covering his thigh, the sensation both rough and incredibly tender. Every nerve ending felt alive, hyper-aware of the friction of coarse body hair agat smooth skin, a delicious contrast that sent shivers down their spines. Whispers, hot and ragged, were lost agat damp shoulders and the nape of a neck, words meaningless next to the language of their bodies. The light from a single bulb caught the glistening sheen on their torsos, highlighting the soft, dark fuzz that dusted their arms and chests, making them seem carved from living, breathing stone. There was no rush, only the slow, deliberate exploration of taut muscle and yielding flesh, a journey mapped by touch and taste. In that suspended moment, they were simply two beings, raw and real, completely consumed by the heat and the hunger that pulsed between them.
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